


Gimme Shelter

by Miso



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Abusive Relationships, M/M, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, introducing my new bread and butter: passively suicidal dutch, seriously kids dont be like micah hes a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Micah was a mistake.





	Gimme Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> B I G O O F
> 
> first and foremost: micah is a piece of shit and i absolutely do not condone anything he does in this fic or really anything in game for that matter. dont be like micah kids). if you or someone you know is in a relationship with someone like micah, please get help.
> 
> with that out of the way, i would also like to slap a trigger warning for suicide, suicidal ideation, and of course abuse onto this fic. also, spoilers! big ol spoilers!
> 
> for context, if you don't feel like reading the fic that this is more or less a continuation of ('dearest'), dutch is currently in possession of a "dearest" ring, left to him by hosea after the botched bank robbery, that hosea intended to use as an engagement ring. dearest rings get their name from the stones they use; diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, and topaz (or, sometimes, tourmaline), in that order, the first letters of which spell 'dearest'. (more on this stuff at the end if u care!)

Dutch wasn't sure what he hated more; looking at himself in the mirror, or knowing everything that had gone wrong in his life was no one's fault but his own.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. As badly as he wanted to, Dutch couldn't entirely blame himself. Micah had been part of the problem, a devil on his shoulder whispering into his ear. And he'd believed him, time and time again, and together, they'd ruined or ended the lives of most people Dutch cared about. His own included.

And yet he'd come crawling back to him, desperate, cold, and hungry, and Micah had just smiled that twisted smile of his and welcomed him into his "home." It was just a shitty, abandoned cabin on the top of a frigid mountain, snowy wind howling around them, but it was a form of sturdy shelter, and that was more than Dutch was used to. Part of him wished Micah hadn't recognized him- he didn't look much like he had all those years ago, now that he'd stopped shaving and cutting his hair and bathing regularly, and most of his earthly possessions had been stolen, sold, or destroyed- but he had. "Hey, buddy," Micah had said, pushing the door open more and gesturing for Dutch to come in, "Welcome home."

He'd been holed up in this godforsaken cabin with Micah for weeks. Shivering in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe in furs and the few pieces of clothing he still had to his name, Dutch shakily held his hands in front of the flame in an attempt to warm them. For a moment, he caught himself wishing a stray spark would land upon his coat and burn him and the entire cabin to ash. He shrugged it off and instead opted to rub his hands together, trying to coax the blood currently freezing in his veins to circulate more. Those passively suicidal thoughts barely fazed him anymore. He didn't want to put a gun to his head, but if there were a speeding train coming directly at him, he probably wouldn't get out of the way. He just kind of accepted that, at this point.

Heavy footfalls came up behind him and a pair of hands landed on his shoulders. "Hey, tiger," Micah cooed into his ear, and Dutch winced but held back a shudder, "You doin' okay?" He hated this. Micah had convinced himself he and Dutch were a couple, like a schoolgirl deciding a boy on the playground was her boyfriend out of the blue one day. It was unsettling, but Dutch had told him they weren't a couple until he was blue in the face, and nothing changed. Another fact of life he'd resigned himself to.

"Fine," Dutch mumbled, hoping maybe if he just didn't give Micah anything to go off of, he'd go away and Dutch could go back to brooding in peace. "Just trying to stay warm."

"I could help you with that."

"No, Micah." Dutch stared blankly at the fire as Micah huffed in frustration over his shoulder. There was a brief pause, before Micah came around to Dutch's side and gripped his left hand, pulling it towards him. "Hey!"

"All these years and you're still wearing that ugly ring," Micah groused, as Dutch tried and failed to pull his hand away. "It's been years, Dutch. Time to let go. You got somethin' better now, anyway." He smiled that eerie fucking smile of his, all teeth and no genuine happiness behind it.

Dutch practically ripped his hand out of Micah's grip, holding it in a fist near his chest. That ring- the ring Hosea had planned on proposing to him with- was the one piece of jewelry Dutch hadn't sold in a desperate attempt to keep a roof over his head. It was the one reminder of Hosea he still had. "As long as I'm breathing, Micah, this ring is staying on my finger." Not a lie. Dutch hadn't taken the ring off in years to do anything but clean it, or stow it safely in his pocket or on an old piece of cord around his neck, just in case.

"It's gotta be worth a couple hundred, at least. Those are real stones. You know how much the diamond and emeralds alone could get us?" Micah asked, blue eyes cold and heartless. "If the gold is real, it's worth-"

"I don't care." Dutch felt like tears could well in his eyes at any point. "I don't care how much it's worth." He paused to fiddle with it a moment and felt those goddamn tears burn at his eyes. "I... I loved him, Micah. That means more to me than the money it's worth."

"Goddamn. Never thought I'd hear Dutch Van der Linde say something matters more than money." Micah let out a hoarse, bitter chuckle. "I'm just sayin'. Couple hundred bucks could get us off this mountain and back out west, but if you wanna sit and blubber like a little bitch about _precious widdle Hosea, he loved me so much, boo hoo hoo,_ then fine." Micah wandered to a nearby chair, leaned back casually, and lit a cigar.

Dutch tensed and glared at Micah, his tears drying almost as quickly as they'd come. If only looks could kill. "If you were half the man Hosea was," Dutch began, standing at the same time Micah did, "we wouldn't be hidin' on a goddamn mountain in the first place."

"What did you say?" Micah's voice was dark and full of hatred.

"I said, if you were half the man Hosea was-"

Dutch was cut off by a slap across his face. "What the fuck?!" he snapped, rubbing his cheek and glaring daggers at Micah.

"Don't you ever compare me to that piece of shit again. Hosea was a weak old man." Micah narrowed his eyes and grabbed Dutch's wrist when he made to hit him back. "I am ten times the man that sick fool was, and we both know it."

"Hosea never woulda killed a child."

That earned him another hit, this one with a closed fist to his nose. Dutch stumbled backward and gripped his nose. "I ain't afraid of sendin' you down to join him, Dutch," Micah snarled, "And if you keep this up, I will. You have a week to sell that ring. _Or else._ "

With that, Micah grabbed a repeater and stalked up the steps to the lookout tower. Dutch stared after him for a moment. His eyes burned with new tears, and his nose dripped blood. As the tears coursed down his cheeks, Dutch pulled his hands away from his nose after stemming the flow of blood and wiped his palms clean on his pants, and the realization that _he needed to run_ hit him.

How, or where, he wasn't sure, but he needed to run, and he needed to run soon. Micah was a mistake. He always had been, and Dutch briefly chided himself internally for thinking this time would be any goddamn different. He briefly fiddled with his ring again, running his thumb over the stones as he tended to do when he was worried and thinking, before taking it off and slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat.

Even if he wasn't interested in protecting himself, he would never forgive himself if he failed to save the one thing he had left of his soulmate. Making sure the ring was secure, Dutch settled onto the tiny, uncomfortable cot- it smelled like Micah, like stale alcohol and sweat and blood and it made him want to vomit- and began planning a method of escape. It would take a miracle. It might take a few bullets. It might take backup he didn't have.

But by god, he was going to get out of there if it was the last thing he did.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic takes place not long before the mission 'american venom' in the epilogue, meaning dutch has been consistently wearing the ring in question for about 7 years. "dearest" rings today command 4 digit prices on average, and of course natural stones and real gold are more valuable, meaning micah's "couple hundred, at least" is probably a massive understatement, at least in 2018 dollars. even a ring that's seen a rough life is worth a decent chunk of change but for once in his life dutch has his priorities straight. :P


End file.
